


Sound of Home

by Wolfling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Stilinski Family Feels, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home had been silent and still without Stiles there, so much so that it felt like the very air there was pressing down with a tangible weight on him. The words <em>funeral pall</em> had whispered all unbidden in Stilinski's mind the last time he had tried to get a few hours of shut eye and that was what had broke him. He'd got up, quickly threw on a change of clothes and left, before the silence had him reaching for a bottle instead.</p><p>He'd known then that home would never be home again if he didn't get Stiles back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound of Home

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, by this point I've just accepted that as season 3b continues to try and rip my still beating heart out of my chest, I am going to continue to respond by repeatedly writing fics with ALL the Stiles comfort post possession. As coping mechanisms go, it could be a lot worse.
> 
> Also, the show really needs to give Sheriff Stilinski a canonical first name because it is just _weird_ writing from his POV and referring to him by his last name. I probably would've written something from his POV a lot earlier than this if I hadn't been dithering about whether to just decide on a first name for him or go with the method I did.
> 
> The life of a fanfic writer is hard sometimes.

It was the silence that had got to Stilinski the most. Ironic, really, considering how full of noise and chaos and panic things had been practically everywhere in town. Certainly everywhere he'd been called. 

Except one place.

Home.

Home had been silent and still without Stiles there, so much so that it felt like the very air there was pressing down with a tangible weight on him. The words _funeral pall_ had whispered all unbidden in Stilinski's mind the last time he had tried to get a few hours of shut eye and that was what had broke him. He'd got up, quickly threw on a change of clothes and left, before the silence had him reaching for a bottle instead.

He'd known then that home would never be home again if he didn't get Stiles back.

Through some combination of luck, magic, werewolves and his own kid's sheer pig headed refusal to give in and die, he did get Stiles back. He was shaken and more than a little traumatized, but gloriously, wonderfully 100 % Stiles, as sound in both body and mind as he ever had been, the nogitsune that had possessed him banished and destroyed.

Stilinski wasn't ashamed to admit to tears when Stiles had croaked out, "Dad!" and reached for him when it was over. He'd just blinked them out of his eyes as he'd hugged his son tightly, the first time in days that Stiles had allowed him close enough to touch.

Walking back into the house later that night with Stiles at his side made something that had been wrapped tight in Stilinski's chest finally loosen and he felt like he could breathe again.

"Tired?" he asked, reaching out and squeezing Stiles' arm just because he could. 

"Exhausted," Stiles replied, turning and leaning against him, resting his forehead against Stilinski's shoulder, like he was prepared to go to sleep where he was standing.

"You should head up to bed," Stilinski said, though really, if Stiles wanted to fall asleep leaning against him in the kitchen, he would be okay with that. He had Stiles back. He would be okay with a lot of things right now.

He made a mental note that that was probably not something he should let Stiles know. He'd take far too much advantage of that once he fully got his feet under him again.

Stiles nodded and after a moment to gather his strength, he pushed away from his father and started to wearily trudge towards the stairs. 

Stiles paused before he got much more than a few feet away though and turned back to him. "You're... uh... you're going to be here, right?" he asked and Stilinski was forcibly reminded of a much younger Stiles not wanting to let him out of his sight.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised as firmly as he could.

He could see Stiles' shoulders relax a little more at that as he once again turned around and started for the stairs. But a few steps later he was stopping again. "You'll keep an ear out in case I...." Stiles trailed off with a expansive hand gesture that Stilinski translated into 'start sleepwalking or have a nightmare I can't wake up from.' 

The recent sleepwalking had been, most likely, nogitsune induced, and therefore probably no longer a concern, but it was unfortunately practically guaranteed that Stiles was going to have to deal with some nightmares after what he'd been through. But Stilinski could at least keep an ear out and try to wake him before they got too bad.

He quickly nodded. "I've got you, kid, don't worry." 

That got him a weak smile before Stiles started moving again. Only to stop for a third time at the bottom of the stairs.

"You're not going to wake me in the morning and tell me to get my butt to school are you?" The question came out in an aggravated tone that was just so _Stiles_ that Stilinski couldn't keep from smiling.

"I think recovery from nogitsune possession earns you a day or two off," he replied. 

To his joyful surprise, he got an actual smirk from Stiles at that. "I think I'd like to listen in if that's the excuse you're going to call the school with."

"You don't think your old man could pull it off?" Stilinski shot back, playing along.

"Are you kidding? Of course you could. I had to get my charm and wit from somewhere."

"You're a regular chip off the old block all right." He nodded at the stairs. "Go on up. I'm just going to lock up down here and then I'll be up to-" _check on you_ he didn't say. Nor did he say _tuck you in_ though in truth that was probably closest to what he wanted to do. "-say good night," he finally settled on.

Stiles nodded and finally headed upstairs. Stilinski watched him go then quickly went through the house, making sure everything was locked and secured. When he finally made his way upstairs himself he found Stiles standing in the doorway of his bedroom, staring inside. Stilinski came up behind him and anything he had been going to say vanished when he saw what Stiles was staring at.

Stilinski had forgotten -- he'd honestly forgotten -- the state Stiles' room had been left in. He'd looked in once after Stiles had first gone missing and had been appropriately unsettled, but since then he'd barely been able to stand being in the _house_ much less his son's room, so he'd somehow managed to push the sight they were now both looking at to the back of his mind.

"At least now I know you don't touch my stuff when I'm away," Stiles said, obviously trying for a joking tone, but falling far short. He still hadn't looked away from his room either.

The walls were covered with photos and bits of information on various crimes and other things that when Stilinski had first seen them had seemed completely random but in hindsight were all pieces of the horror they'd just been through. Red strings crisscrossed over everything and a bunch more went from different areas, all converging on the pair of scissors that had been driven into Stiles' mattress.

It was obvious that Stiles was finding the sight of it all now more than a little disturbing. "I'm sorry," Stilinski said, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "I should've-"

But Stiles shook his head, looking back at his father with a mulish look. "Hey, no. You had other things to deal with than cleaning up the insanity I left in here. Besides, it's not like I don't know I was riding the crazy train for a while there, even during the times I was the one driving."

"Not so crazy," Stilinski argued. When Stiles frowned at him he gestured at the walls. "You were making connections here -- real, solid connections -- that no one else was seeing. And all of that while working under, to put it mildly, extreme mental stress. That's pretty much the opposite of crazy."

Stiles made a more thoughtful sound as he looked closer at all the things he'd taped to the walls. "Huh," he said finally. "I guess I was kinda rocking the deductions."

"Of course you were," Stilinski said, squeezing his shoulder. Remembering something Stiles had said before everything had gone horribly bad, he added, "After all, you take after your Pops. He's in law enforcement, or so I hear."

As he'd hoped, that pulled a surprised laugh out of Stiles, who then turned and hugged him tightly. "Yeah, I do. And that's _awesome_." When Stiles didn't pull away immediately, Stilinski hugged him back, content to stand there and keep doing so as long as his son needed him to.

"Hey Dad?" Stiles asked after a moment.

"Yeah son?"

"Would it be too weird if I asked to sleep with you tonight?" His voice had gone soft and hesitant, reminding Stilinski of a much younger Stiles, and the way he had so often hovered in the doorway after his mother's death, clutching his pillow while he asked basically the same thing. And he had always looked like he was half expecting to be ordered back to his own bedroom instead of invited in. Stilinski had never denied Stiles then and he wasn't about to start now.

"You're my kid," he said, ruffling Stiles' hair reassuringly. "I grew inured to weird years ago. Get changed and grab your pillow."

Stiles hugged him tighter for a moment so Stilinski felt more than saw the smile his response had garnered. "I remember the drill." He let go and turned to do as he was bid, but paused and looked back at his father. "Thanks."

"You're my kid," Stilinski repeated, with more emphasis to the words. "Whatever you need, okay?"

They parted ways long enough to get ready for bed. By the time Stilinski finished in the bathroom and made it to his room, Stiles was already there. He'd changed into his usual sleep attire and he was curled up on the far side of the bed, clutching his pillow the way he used to clutch the stuffed bear he used to carry everywhere, until he gave it to Claudia when she got sick to help make her feel better. He looked so young and lost lying there that for a moment all Stilinski could see was the sad eyed nine year old that Stiles had once been.

Faced with that, Stilinski did what he had back then -- tried to distract them both from the bad with the good. "Remember that time you and Scott exploded a paper mache mountain in the kitchen?" he asked as he climbed into his side of the bed.

Stiles blinked. "It was a science project," he said, the lost look disappearing from his eyes. "We were building a replica of a volcano. To demonstrate how it erupted."

"I'm pretty sure there's still an 'eruption' stain on the ceiling."

"I'll admit we might have underestimated how effective the lava propulsion was going to be, but we got an A on that project so it was all worth it in the end right?" He shot his father a smirk that was such pure Stiles that Stilinski felt his heart squeeze. "Just be grateful that the year we decided to do a study on the behaviour of an ant colony, we worked at Scott's place."

"Oh god. I'm still surprised that Melissa talked to either one of us again."

"It wasn't that bad," Stiles protested.

"She had to hire an _exterminator_."

"Okay, maybe it was that bad."

They continued talking, trading memories from before werewolves and nogitsune and darachs made the world a so much darker and scarier place. Gradually, Stiles' responses grew slower and shorter and eventually he drifted off to sleep.

Stilinski lay awake a while longer, listening to how the silence in the house was broken by the sound of his son's breathing.

It was forever going to be the sound of home.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://fwolfling.tumblr.com/) if people want to come say hi.


End file.
